Hi, guys! Glad you followed me over.
I thought long and hard about my first blog post since the move. It was exhausting. I realized that I didn't feel like talking about that stuff. Such is life. So instead, and because it is the first (or second now) of December, I am going to start off with a little Christmas story.
I love the Holidays! It brings out the best, and the worst in people. All of which make for some fantastic memories...
The whole "Santa" story is...well...a devilishly entertaining tale. I mean, I love the whole mystery of Santa. Think about it...some guy, who loves cookies just as much as I do, cruises the country in a flying sleigh that is bright red and led by some adorable reindeer, Rudolph in particular. The guy breaks into people's houses, squeezing his fat buns down some chimneys, and drops off gifts that some mindless child probably doesn't deserved. Speaking of squeezing, Dearest Santa, how are you squeezing through chimneys when I can barely get my fat butt into a pair of Spanx...which, by the way, are designed to make me look slimmer?! *taps foot* Do tell. I'll wait. Any who, he knows when I've been sleeping and he knows when I'm awake. And even when I've been bad, he still managed to deliver that red corvette that I've been dying for (sucka!!). Come on. That's a pretty sweet deal. What sucks is when all of that mystery is taken away.
I remember the day that I found out that the big, cookie eating, deer owning, red sleigh driving fat guy was a lie. "Santa" was a lie that my parents told me for years. A lie they told even when I was punished for lying about a homework assignment. A lie my mom carried out by signing certain gifts with "from Santa" and wrapping those "Santa" gifts with beautiful paper that my parents just marvel at. It was sad (and devious) and I was devastated. Then it dawned on me...my parents are bad asses. They didn't have Christmas magic in the typical sense, but they made magic happen. I got that red corvette, even when I stayed out past the street lights. I had gifts for days and I had memories to last a life time. Unfortunately, being the not so nice kid that I was, I had to tell my friends the awesome news...that there was no such thing as Santa, but rather our parents are lying hypocrites that love the hell out of us. Problem...the other kids weren't ready to hear about it. I was the unintentional kill joy. I murdered their Christmas light and I was too self absorbed to feel guilty about it. After all...I cracked the Christmas code. I single handedly solved the mystery. Good job, De'Aura, your only child syndrome needs to be medicated.
The day that I broke the story, was also the day that I realized just how much I loved my friend B. B has been my best friend for a large portion of my life. She's my everything. The day that I shared with her the "fantastic" news, was the day that I realized that I was growing up and I was doing it alone. You see, B has always had a sweet little life. She is the friend that sees the purity in everything. She lives in the moment not because that's the way to be, but rather because there really isn't a reason to live any other way. Why ask and question everything in life when you are bound to find the answers if you just keep living your life? Makes sense right? Maybe not to you, but to me, it makes perfect sense. Life is what it is and it is best to just ride with it. I love that about her.
Anywho, so as soon as the "Santa isn't real" words rolled off my greedy, selfish tongue, I knew that I had started the shift in our relationship. I had killed it for her. I single handedly forced her to grow up...or at least see the world as a dark space with questions and solved mysteries. I took her Christmas innocence and I didn't even know or care about the potential repercussions. I remember the look on her face, as though I had just thrown our friendship bracelets into the boys bathroom...never to be seen from again. I did that to her and I felt like poop. But then, the most amazing thing happened. She called me a liar. No really. I explained everything to her...the reality of the whole Santa situation and she called me a liar...to my face. It was as though the words that she spoke "you are a liar" were the truth and everything that I explained to her was more childish than the elaborate tale itself. This is big elephant size dung. Now, keep a few things in mind: we went to a strict Private Catholic School, B never did anything "bad," unless you consider obsessive giggling to be a punishable behavior, and to this day, the girl cant say a swear word even if she tried (she may mummble something close to it or say "crap" in a very low tone).
She was risking her life by calling me a liar. At our strict private school, calling someone a liar was 1. punishable by a paddling, some bible versus searching (read: isolation and no recess) and your nose in the corner for a long time, and 2. being the liar is punishable by a paddling, teachers phone call home and some bible verse searching and stuff (read: isolation and no recess). She went all out to call me a liar...it was serious stuff. So, for the sake of our friendship (and to spare our butts from being hit), I told her that I was joking. Our friendship was worth more than my discovery. And she deserved to live out the Christmas fantasy as long as possible.
I didn't say another word about it, but I relished in the fact that I had killed it for a dozen of our classmates *insert evil laugh.* B and I never spoke of "Santa" until 4 years later...in junior high school. That is when she learned the truth. And I learned to appreciate her for being so innocent and for seeing the beauty in everything. I was there when she cried, and I was there to explain it all to her. Yea, I thought it was weird that we were about to enter high school and having this talk about Santa. Yet, all I could do is just love her for being who she was.
B is still a huge part of my life. Even though our Santa days our over, we still experience moments similar to this. I truly believe that B is a constant in my world because I need a dose of "calm the f*** down and smell the roses." She is that person and I am thankful. *checks off the "calm the f*** down and smell the roses" category on my list of Must Have Friends* (don't tell me you don't have a list... You need one...I'll help you create one... Our friendship has changed over the years, but she will always and forever be my best friend.
And for the record, I am dreading the day that some little cow pie of a kid kills the fat guy mystery for my kid. Luckily, this clever lady created an amazing little letter that can be given to your child prior to the cow pie kid being a kill joy. It will help explain the whole joy behind Santa (and hopefully keep the devastating blow to a minimum). I can't be having my kid thinking that I'm some evil parent that has been fooling them for all these years. Hey, I have a reputation to maintain and I'd be damned if I let some cow pie tarnish my imagine. My child will see me as a Saint and nothing less. Even if I created some elaborate story of lies and mistrust. I am (will be) mom...and I rule their perspective of me. (I don't have kids, but I am pretty sure I will feel the same when that day comes).
